In-Betweeners
by RenKain
Summary: Short stories based on XspriteyX's Red vs. Blue prompts and revolving around several different characters. Blanket T rating, but will vary from chapter to chapter.
1. Chapter 1

A/N:The following chapters are inspired by XspriteyX's RvB Meme post and are posted with permission. The prompts probably won't be updated in their original order, and I doubt I'll get to all of them, but I'm planning on doing at least ten out of the twenty-five prompts. More if I have the time.

The idea with this meme was to take a randomly made list of ten of my favorite Red vs. Blue characters and put them in situations of XspriteyX's making (it honestly turned out a lot more amusing than I thought it would be because of where I placed them). Here is my list:

1) Grif, 2) North, 3) Church, 4) Tucker, 5) Simmons, 6) Delta, 7) York, 8) Caboose, 9) Washington, 10) Texas.

The chapters will be individually rated from K to M, depending on the situation and characters involved (some just swear more colorfully than others).

Disclaimer: I do not own Red vs. Blue, and make no profit from these stories. All questions are from XspriteyX's post. I just answered them.

Rated T for safety.

Prompt #1: _7 has found a love note in his room, who does he hope it's from?_

York

* * *

York trudged tiredly to the door of his dormitory room aboard the Mother of Invention, entering his key code and nearly stumbling to his bed in his exhaustion. Instead of sitting on the bed immediately, York used the very end of it to balance himself while he knelt down beside it. He had already broken two beds in as many months by flopping down on top of them while still wearing full body armor. Needless to say, the Director had not been impressed by the destruction of his property (although apparently he was just fine with any of them nearly demolishing the training room during group sessions). York was still feeling the wrath of the leader of Project Freelancer, and his aching muscles could attest to it.

Session after session, day after day, dodging, jumping, swinging, avoiding Maine and other highly dangerous things…the list went on. York was pretty sure this was punishment for the two (rather pricey) beds. He couldn't think of any other reason why the Director would be drilling him so hard the last few weeks.

Kneeling beside his bed and half-leaning against it, York pulled off his helmet and breathed a sigh of relief. All twenty-two of his training sessions for the day were now complete, and he could hardly wait to get out of his bulky armor and under a shower of hot water. Maybe he could even grab some company to help rub the knots from his shoulders…

Just as York grinned at his sudden imagery of a perfect evening, a small, black object tucked almost completely under his pillow caught his eye. Lifting one brow in curiosity York snatched it from the bed and lifted it to his face for inspection.

It was a tiny box, very ordinary looking, but with a small, rolled-up piece of paper sticking out of one side of it.

York grinned, recognizing the passing of a note when he saw it. He took the paper from the box before tossing the little object back onto his bed, holding the note in one gloved hand for a moment longer, wondering who could have managed to break into his room to deliver this mini message.

It wouldn't be from Wyoming, he knew that much. He also very much doubted it would have been left by Maine, South, or CT.

Maine and South would have a hell of a time even getting into his room, as neither of them were exactly tech savvy, CT barely noticed anyone or anything around her anymore, and Wyoming was…just, no.

Wash?

York considered it, but it seemed unlikely. Even with subjects that were a bit more awkward for the younger Freelancer, Wash had never had a problem approaching either North or York on his own, albeit quite hesitantly.

He came to the same conclusion about North.

York considered his only other option, the cheeky grin returning to his face again, and slowly unrolled the little note.

He had to re-read it four times, the blush across his cheeks growing every time from the very descriptive and suggestive words in front of him (written in a handwriting he recognized immediately), before he finally crumpled the note in his hand and snatched his helmet from the bed, practically running for the door.

It looked like York's night was about to take a turn for the much, _much_ better.

* * *

Inside the Comm room, the Director was pacing in front of his main computer, hands folded behind his back and shoulders rigid. To his right, Counselor was busy clacking away at the tablet in his hand with a frown of concentration.

"All agents are off the training room floor?" the Director asked, adjusting his glasses as he spoke.

"Yes, Sir," Counselor answered absently. He flipped the screen of his tablet to the tracking monitor, several little red dots appearing on a grid of the Mother of Invention to show the position of each Freelancer agent on board. "All training floors are cleared…or, not."

Counselor groaned inwardly as he spotted the problem, and thought about closing the tablet completely just to avoid the temper tantrum he knew it would provoke. He also knew the Director would demand he elaborate, and as an employee of Project Freelancer, he was obligated to comply.

"Elaborate," the Director ordered predictably.

Counselor sighed before answering, "There are two agents in the…uh…locker showers. With the doors secured."

The Director turned toward him with a deep scowl. "Which two agents?" he demanded.

"Eh…" Counselor made a show of flipping through his tablet, stalling for time.

"Which two, Counselor?" the stern, scowling man pressed.

Counselor winced a little, unwilling to cause trouble but aware it would happen anyway. What were those two thinking? "Agent York," he started slowly. This wouldn't appear too out of place, considering York had just finished his training sessions.

"And?" the Director insisted in a dangerous tone.

"And…Agent…Carolina," Counselor finished with another sigh. He flipped his tablet to the training schedule, he knew what was coming.

The Director turned away for a moment, lost in thought, before glaring at Counselor over his shoulder. "Increase training difficulty by 35%, and add two more sessions to each schedule."

Counselor mentally shook his head but made the changes to the schedule in his hand. He sighed again, feeling as though he had been doing that a lot lately. He had warned the two of them, he really had, but they were either the most stubborn agents he had ever met, or the most clueless.

"Done, Sir."

* * *

A/N: I have this head canon that the Director is aware of York's affections for Carolina, and does not approve of Mr. Hottie McHotpants's shenanigans with his daughter. I also believe that Carolina can be quite a minx when the mood strikes her.


	2. Chapter 2

A/N:This chapter is a little bit AU, since canonically there hadn't been any raids in Valhalla before the Reds and Blues rescued Church.

Disclaimer: I do not own Red vs. Blue, and make no profit from these stories. All questions are from XspriteyX's post. I just answered them.

Rated M for Tucker's mouth.

Prompt #7: _1, 9 and 4 have been captured by the UNSC, who's fault is it?_

Grif, Washington, Tucker

* * *

"Well, this is just fucking great," Tucker growled, both his hands placed on the sides of his helmet and his back against the canyon wall.

"Quit complaining, jackass," Grif growled back from the other side of Washington. "This is your fault to begin with, anyway."

"What?" the Blue soldier yipped. "How the fuck is us being caught in a surprise ambush _my _fault?"

"Both of you, be quiet!" Washington ordered. When the two soldiers next to him grudgingly stopped their bickering, he turned the rest of his focus to the five UNSC soldiers surrounding them, standing at a distance to be out of the ideal range of Tucker's energy sword. "We have to think about how to get out of this," he continued in a whisper. "They don't want us dead, otherwise we probably would be already."

"Hey, Wash," Grif hissed back, turning his head just a fraction to try to see the former agent. "Aren't Freelancers tough or something? Just take them out and let's get the fuck out of here."

Wash fought down a frustrated snarl inside his helmet and explained quietly, "I don't have my battle rifle on me just now, because _someone_ decided to use it for target practice and lost it in the cavern when these guys heard the gunshots and found us!"

"You said I needed to practice!" Tucker protested in an angry, hushed tone. "So it's still not my fault!"

"With _your_ rifle!" Washington shot back at him. "And yes, it is!"

"I couldn't! Mine is jammed because _someone _left Caboose alone in the base yesterday, and he broke half of our equipment!" Tucker snidely imitated Washington's annoyed tone right back at him. "And _no_, it _isn't_!"

"He needs to learn to work in a more independent fashion!" Washington defended. "Now that Church is gone, Caboose has to practice being his own soldier! And yes. It. Is!"

"Can we come back to this later?" Grif squeaked. "We're still kind of surrounded, you know."

"Right," Washington took a deep breath to calm himself. Tucker always had a special way of getting under his skin, despite his years of self-conditioning in the Freelancer program. "Can anyone reach their radio? Maybe we can call Caboose-"

"_No_!" both Tucker and Grif hissed in unison.

"Besides," Tucker continued, "mine is on the chin of my helmet. I can't reach it without moving my hands."

"Mine's broken," Grif shrugged.

"So is mine," Washington admitted.

"What?"

"Really?"

"Hey, I'm not perfect, alright?" Washington sighed in agitation, clearly running out of ideas. "What about-"

"Alright, that's enough whispering," the captain of the UNSC squad spoke to them through the voice magnifier on his HUD. "Nobody move, or we'll open fire."

"We know that already!" Tucker shot back at him. "What's the point of telling us something we already know? What next? Are you gonna let us know we've been caught?"

"_Tucker_!"

"Dude, you are _not_ helping!" Grif's tone of disapproval surprised the Blue into silence. Grif never seemed to care about anything, even in life-threatening situations.

Clearly, Tucker realized, they were screwed.

"Enough!" the captain ordered sharply. "All of you, step forward slowly, keep your hands on your helmets. Let's make this as easy as possible for everyone, alright?"

Tucker and Washington each took a small step forward, but Grif only moved his head, helmet tilted in confusion as he stared out to their right.

"Dude, get your fat ass moving!" Tucker snapped at him. "You wanna get us shot?"

Grif turned back to the UNSC captain slowly, his posture showing nothing but insolence. It was a completely different stance than the tense one he had been sporting just a few seconds before. "Hey, you," he called.

"Me?" the captain pointed to himself. He sounded surprised, probably having picked up on the orange soldier's sudden mood swing.

"Yeah," Grif drawled. "The ugly one in the middle. You're the captain, right?"

Tucker's helmet swung around as he opened his mouth to insult Grif again, but stopped himself at the unexpected nudge against his foot from Washington's boot.

"Listen," Washington whispered. "Do you hear that?"

Tucker held still, listening in concentration for a moment. Then he grinned behind his visor. "Yeah."

"You've got some balls, soldier!" the UNSC captain snarled. He obviously wasn't used to being insulted by someone of a lower rank (although it was possible Grif was still technically a sergeant).

By now several of the other UNSC soldiers were beginning to look back and forth in confusion, trying to locate the source of the sudden music. This was turning out to be a nearly impossible task, as the walls of the canyon were throwing the sound around the entire area, making it seem like it was coming from several different directions at once.

"I also have a question for you, asshole," Grif continued in the same laid-back tone the other two Valhalla dwellers had grown accustomed to hearing. He tilted his chin, and they could almost _feel_ his cheeky smirk from behind the reflective visor. "What kind of animal has tusks?"

The captain's answer was drowned out by the sounds of a heavy engine flying over the hill to their right, accompanied by some very geeky war cries and a firing turret gun.

"Red or death!" Sarge howled from behind the steering wheel as the Warthog smashed into the dirt and flattened the UNSC soldier closest to the rise. "Stay out of our canyon, ya dirty intruders!"

Simmons turned the turret gun on the soldiers now scrambling to regain their bearings after the sudden vehicle assault. "Yeah, suck it Blue! And…you other guys! Suck it!"

"Nice, Simmons!" Grif scowled, and Tucker could imagine his mismatched eyes rolling inside his helmet. "Just shoot them, dumbass!"

"You can't give me orders!" Simmons retaliated over the repetitive bangs of the turret rounds as he showered bullets at the UNSC troops.

"Get behind the jeep!" Washington shouted, shoving the other two forward sharply. "Grab cover!"

Sarge made no move to protest the proximity of 'those dirty Blues' to his precious baby, standing up on the front seat to unload several rounds from his shotgun at the remaining, albeit retreating, intruders.

"Ya can't take an old dog down with new tricks!" he shouted rebelliously.

Simmons stopped firing momentarily. "Sir, it's actually 'You can't _teach_ an old-' You know what, never mind."

"Looks like they've left," Grif noted as he leaned against the back of the jeep and watched the last two soldiers scrambling away into the caverns. "We win."

"For today," Washington amended. He looked from one simulation soldier to the other and shook his head. "But it might be awhile before they get the stomach to try that again. Nice move, Sarge."

"Don't thank me, Blue," Sarge replied gruffly. "We didn't even know you were out here. And Grif! What in sam hell were you doin' in Blue territory?"

"Uh," Grif shrugged. "Recon?"

"On what?" Tucker snorted at him. "The best napping place?"

"…Maybe."

"Let's just get back to the bases," Washington suggested. "Regroup, fix our equipment," he looked at Tucker pointedly, "and post watch."

"Ya know, Blue," Sarge said thoughtfully. "I never thought I'd say this, but I agree with ya. Let's go, fellas."

As Washington trotted alongside the jeep and back toward the middle of the canyon, he began to really process what had just taken place. If the UNSC had found them out here, he doubted it would be long before someone else realized their location, as well.

_What have I gotten myself into? _

* * *

A/N: So yeah…Tucker did it.


	3. Chapter 3

A/N: Urgh, this one took a lot longer than I thought it would. Sorry for the delayed update.

Disclaimer: I do not own Red vs. Blue, and make no profit from these stories. All questions are from XspriteyX's post. I just answered them.

Warnings: T for a few swears. Or T+...Or I'll just making up my own ratings.

Prompt: _8 has been locked in a closet for six hours, what does he demand when he's released?_

Caboose

* * *

"Hey, Tucker."

Tucker turned from his post on top of Blue base to see Church walking toward him, the sniper rifle he couldn't even use hooked to his back. "What do you want now? I already said I haven't seen any movement from the Reds all day."

"I don't care about the Reds," Church stopped beside his teammate. "Have you seen Caboose?"

"Dude, why would I _want_ to see Caboose? That guy gives me a headache every time he opens his mouth."

"Just answer the question!" Church snarled impatiently. The heat was killing him today, and the fact that he had managed to lose one of his teammates wasn't helping his mood.

"Jesus, fine!" Tucker rolled his eyes despite the fact Church couldn't even see them. "No, I haven't seen Caboose since this morning."

"Neither have I," Church grumbled. "That's not good."

"How is that not good? Shouldn't we be celebrating, or something?" Tucker lowered his rifle and shifted to face Church. "I mean, when was the last time we had a Caboose-free afternoon? It's the best fucking luck we've had in awhile, if you ask me."

"Well, I'm not asking you," Church lifted his sniper rifle as he spoke, looking through the scope to scan the canyon around them. "And I wouldn't call it 'luck'. Losing Caboose is like losing an insanely strong toddler; we don't know the kind of shit he could be getting into right now. Hell, he could be playing with a nuclear explosive while you're sitting here being all bitchy."

"Hey, I'm not the one whining about a lost boyfriend," Tucker frowned. "If you're so worried then untie your panties and go look for him yourself."

"What the fuck?" Church growled. "Dude, I am not _that _desperate."

"Look, maybe he's with the Reds," Tucker suggested. Honestly he was getting more than a little bored with the entire conversation.

"Why the hell would he be with the Reds?"

"I don't know, man. He did seem to hit it off with that pink one, though. What was his name? Biscuit?"

"Donut," Church sighed. "And no, if he was over there they would have sent him back by now. No one can handle Caboose for more than a few minutes at a time." He groaned in frustration and lowered the sniper rifle. Misplacing an entire idiot was just embarrassing, and would look pretty bad on his military record. As much as it pained him to do it, Church concluded he would have to go find Caboose. Again.

"Well, shit."

* * *

"Caboose!" Church yelled out for what felt like the thousandth time, circling back from the kitchen area toward the bunks. He was getting really tired of searching for his idiotic teammate, but was unwilling to simply let Caboose wander around unchecked. Not after the last time that had happened. "Dammit, Caboose! Get out here!"

"Fmfph!"

Church paused in the hall, helmet turning to look over his shoulder. He could have sworn he had heard something.

"Mmph!"

"…Caboose?"

Church followed the muffled sounds to the base's storage closet and stopped in front of it. "The fuck?"

"Churmph!"

Church turned the handle of the closet door and jumped back as Caboose tumbled out, nearly knocking him down. Caboose himself landed in a pile in the middle of the hall and made one hell of a racket as his armor clanked off the concrete floor.

"Church!" he panted. "You rescued me! I knew you would!"

"What the hell, Caboose?" Church growled. "I've been looking everywhere for you! What were you doing in the closet?"

"I couldn't see the door handle, so I couldn't get out," Caboose explained while pulling himself up on the wall beside him.

Church decided to not even comment on Caboose's door handle dilemma (it was Caboose, after all) and gave him a once-over instead. "Shit man, have you been in there since this morning?"

"Yeah…I have to go to the bathroom."

"I'll bet," Church agreed. When Caboose continued to stand in the hallway, Church cleared his throat uncomfortably. "Well…"

"I don't remember-"

"Ugh!" the acting Captain of Blue Team turned on his booted heel in frustration. "Come on!"

After reminding Caboose where the base's bathroom was located and returning the big idiot to his room, Church back-tracked toward the kitchen. No doubt Caboose would be hungry, and Church would much rather not have to listen to him bitch and moan about it.

After returning to Caboose's room with a freeze dried something-or-other and a small pack of water, Church found Caboose already shucked out of his armor and beneath the thin covers of his bed.

"I'm tired," Caboose stated unnecessarily.

"Yeah, I know," Church sighed.

It was always like this: Caboose would get stuck somewhere and spend all his energy inwardly panicking instead of trying to escape, and would come out of the ordeal exhausted. Church had already been aware of the outcome, which was why he had taken Caboose straight to the moron's room instead of back outside.

Church set the food and water on Caboose's nightstand and turned to leave.

"Stay here."

The cobalt soldier turned his head to look over his shoulder. "What? Why?"

Caboose sat up and picked at the covers of his bed for a moment. "…I don't like small spaces."

"Oh for the love of-! We've been over this already! You're room isn't _that_ small, Caboose!"

"But the closet was," Caboose mumbled. "And dark, too." He continued to pluck at his covers, and it became painfully obvious that he still wasn't very comfortable with the events of the day.

Church let out another irritated sigh, not even believing it himself that he was actually thinking over the strange demand. On one hand, he was annoyed, stressed and the entire canyon was still hotter than the surface of the sun, making him tired as well. The last thing he really wanted to do right now was sit and watch the big blonde dummy sleep.

On the other hand, it would be the only thing he would have to do. Tucker could handle keeping watch in a stagnant, boring canyon on his own for awhile.

Coming to a decision, Church practically stomped over to the room's small desk and hauled the metal chair across the tiny space, setting it against the wall beside the door. "Fine," he ground out. "But just for a few minutes."

Caboose relaxed instantly and dug into the food on his nightstand while Church sat himself down in the chair. When he was finished, Caboose snuggled further into the bed and closed his eyes.

It was peacefully quiet for the first few moments, and Church was just beginning to grudgingly enjoy the silence, until-

"Church? Will you read me a bedtime-"

"No!"


End file.
